


These Truths That Shape Us

by blood-and-cigars (goblins_riddles_frocks)



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Angst, Baskerville shows up for a bit, Canon Typical Monologuing, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It’s yet another The Sins Of The Father type fic lmfaooo, Pre Canon, The latter two are only mentioned, mention of medical horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblins_riddles_frocks/pseuds/blood-and-cigars
Summary: While researching more of her family’s work, Integra discovers what the research on Alucard really entailed. So she asks him the quintessential question: why?But knowledge isn’t very much in the larger scheme of things. And it isn’t as if a few glimpses of old information and a single conversation will change a century of wrongs. Integra is left to confront the fact that she can do nothing about any of it.
Relationships: Alucard & Integra Hellsing
Comments: 16
Kudos: 93





	These Truths That Shape Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [walonvaus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walonvaus/gifts).



Integra was sixteen, and perhaps that’s older than she should’ve been when first questioning her family legacy. But in her defense, carefully crafted doctrine is a difficult beast to shake off. 

Beneath the library, attached to the sublevels, was an archive. Under tight temperature and humidity control, kept mostly in darkness were all the old logs, the old research. At that time, she’d only been in there a few times before, and never without one of the clerical staff to help her find what she needed. 

It was always cold, detached information, presented with a polite, tight lipped smile and a clipped, pleasant voice. They ushered her in and out and none of what she learned really meant a thing. 

Walter certainly didn’t like her down there, and she’d noticed that. But she was only just realizing that that didn’t really mean much either. It was with vague dismay that she slowly came to learn that he would never go beyond a concerned look, a gentle chiding. There were no consequences. There were no consequences for anything. 

Still, she snuck down the library stairs as if she were doing something she wasn’t supposed to. All with that youthful thrill of not knowing whether she’d be caught, or what Walter would say if he was somehow informed. 

She was going over how she’d make her excuses. How she’d explain it all away. Really, she was just researching her family history. It was simple, her tutors mentioned something peculiar to her. She just wanted to know more, and really wasn’t she old enough to walk into a _library_ on her own? 

As an adult, Integra later realized that in the early days, both Walter, _and Alucard_ had gone out of their way to shield her from the specifics of her father’s proclivities. Of how exactly Alucard came to be tamed, and what all those labs were meant for. Back then she’d had a general idea, but none of the graphic details. And she had never paused to wonder at how much there was that she really did not know. 

Perhaps that was why she’d hardly spent five minutes in that particularly secret part of the archive before Alucard soon found her. It was early afternoon but he was awake anyway. She didn’t like late nights and though she never really noticed this, he’d adjusted his own sleeping habits around hers. 

Despite the time of day and how the walls of the archive were strewn with various silver ornaments and religious icons, he appeared in a dramatic unfurling of smoke and shadows. She was used to his silliness by then, of course. 

Integra was already settled in an armchair, the only one, nose buried in a book. She, perhaps recklessly, had brought herself a cup of tea and had left it on the massive dusty stereo by the door. 

He circled her with curiosity, finally settling on standing behind her, to read over her shoulder. She didn’t look up, only reached out to pat his arm on the chair back absently, as greeting. 

In those days, they’d been alarmingly close. Looking back it seemed so strange to her, she couldn’t imagine being so comfortable with him in the present. She’d never admit it, but she used to think of him as something like the family pet. _Pat his hair and give him treats, make sure he doesn’t run off after too many squirrels._

He reached out to tilt the book in her hands so that he could more easily read over her shoulder. When she did not respond to that, he anticipated when she’d finished reading and reached to flip the page before she had a chance to. 

She sighed and gave him a look. “Thank you,” she said dryly. 

He smiled sweetly back at her. It was an uncanny expression on his face— there was something far more eerie about him when he wasn’t attempting to look menacing— but she’d gotten used to that too. When it was clear she was about to turn her attention back to the book, he quickly added, “And what are we reading today, Master?”

Integra glanced back up at him. “ _I_ am reading this bestiary entry of barghests and the organization's known accounts of it.”

“Why would you turn to such a dry account when you have a primary source at your beck and call?”

She scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust your recollection of yesterday’s weather.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. He seemed to be lost in thought, proving her point more or less. Yes, he was almost too scatterbrained to function. Regardless he provided his own supplemental comments as she read on, and she indulged him. Although many of his additions were too outlandish for her to really believe. 

Then something _did_ catch her eye. Something he might know about. “Alucard, what is this referring to? File AVHA15”

He paused. “Well, Master, that is _my_ file, detailing Hellsing’s research and… modifications on me over time. This log is just referencing one specific… experiment that negatively impacted my ability to destroy the creature with efficiency.”

“Oh.” Integra was intrigued in a morbid sort of way. She hadn’t read the full file before, it was always kept down here. She’d only been shown excerpts, she’d always wondered what all those so called experiments and research entailed. “Can you fetch it for me?”

“Fetch what?” he replied, absently enough that she couldn’t be sure whether he was playing dumb. 

“The file.” 

“Oh, _that._ It isn’t worth reading, I assure you.”

“I’d like to see it anyway. It’s only reasonable that I be fully informed about my servant.”

He laughed, though it sounded hollow. “Let an old man keep his secrets. Isn't it more fun that way, maintaining a touch of mystery?” 

“You’re being silly,” she chided. “Go on and find it for me, please.”

He sighed and did as he was told, the humor draining from his face. It only took a few moments for him to reappear at her side, a thick file folder in hand. “I will warn you, it is rather distasteful, not exactly light afternoon reading ” 

She shrugged the warning off. “You’re stalling.” 

“Fine, suit yourself.” He gave it to her with an exaggeratedly bored shrug. 

She quickly flipped it open, so eager to read that she missed how he averted his eyes from the contents of the file. 

He settled back in his place behind the armchair, but there was no commentary this time. 

It didn’t take long before Integra went very pale. 

The accounts were highly detailed and aside from illustrations there were also _pictures_. Clinical, clean, yet still enough to make her blood run cold. 

She kept flipping through pages in a haze, barely glancing over the text anymore. Other things held her attention now: Teeth arranged neatly on a tray, roots and all. Bones severed in half to reveal the marrow. There were diagrams of organs, black and white photos depicting the stages of regeneration. How long it takes for silver to burn completely through flesh. 

Many of these were far more modern than the rest, she realized with a sickening lurch of the stomach. They could only have been taken during her father’s tenure. 

At some point Alucard had left her side to go poking through the shelves. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him picking up and immediately putting back down various old books and fragile trinkets. 

She finally closed the file. 

Alucard turned back to her with a strange wry smile. “Had enough?” The easiness in his manner had to be feigned. 

Her mouth had gone dry. It was difficult to comprehend how her father of all people could have done this. Or how Van Helsing, the legendary hunter everyone in the organization spoke of with such reverence, how could they have done such horrible things? After a long stunned silence, she opened her mouth, and her own voice sounded small and frightened to her own ears. “Why?”

Alucard looked at her in confusion. 

“Why would anyone do this?” she repeated, more steadily this time. 

He turned his back to her for a moment to carefully put away whatever he’d been holding, she noticed his hand tremble. “Why wouldn’t they?” 

“It’s so extreme.” 

He laughed and it was a harsh sound, still browsing the shelves. She realized he must be looking for something specific. “That isn’t even the half of it. Do you think a century of research can be confined to a flimsy little file folder?” 

She felt sick. “I… there’s more then?”

“Of course.” He finally pulled out a box that she realized was full of cassettes. “The indexing in this place is rather tragic,” he muttered under his breath. 

“What are you doing?” she said warily, watching him pull one out and bring it to the stereo. 

He gave her a look as if to say, “ _Isn’t it obvious?”_ and put a cassette in, setting it to rewind. “These are copies, I think the original records might have been lost, or they’re hidden outside of the manor.”

She approached the stereo and took the cassette case in her hand. It was labeled as part of a series. She wondered how many more there were. 

He pressed play, not soon enough for the entire tape to have rewound surely, but the recording began, with a crackle. The staticy sound soon gave way to a surprisingly clear voice caught mid sentence. Alucard breathed in sharply at it. 

She recognized a heavy Dutch accent. “Alucard, is that…” But he didn’t seem to be listening to her. 

Her arms prickled with goose flesh as they were swept under the shadow of the past. 

Van Helsing on the recording spoke in a clear crisp voice, explaining with clinical detail that while building up Alucard’s tolerance to typical Midian weaknesses might seemingly make him more difficult to rein in, he still had an Achilles Heel in the form of his own body. When ordered not to change forms, the only substance that could really hurt him without regenerating were his own bones. 

Integra glanced back at Alucard in horror, she couldn’t find a voice to speak. Meanwhile, he was standing stock still, like a statue. Though it was unreasonable, she wondered if he’d ever move again. 

On the tape, Van Helsing addressed Alucard. “Vampire.”

“Professor.” Alucard’s voice was strange, as if it wouldn’t record correctly. Even so she thought she could pinpoint a diluted accent. 

“You know what to do.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Integra rushed forward to cut off the tape but not before it played a sickening wet crunch that reverberated through the room. 

She turned to him, eyes wide. “Alucard, was it… like that all the time?” 

He glanced at her distractedly as if he’d just remembered she was still there. His eyes were redder than usual. In that time, she had not seen him weep before, she hadn’t known about the blood tears. He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “The research? Mostly.”

“Why?”

“You keep saying that, Master.”

“I don’t understand. They must have had a reason? My father he…” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. 

“Why” he said again, slowly, tasting the word. He threw his back and laughed, long loud and bitter. Yes, those _were_ bloody tears running down his face.

She was looking at him in confusion. 

“Because they— because Hellsing— are the victors, and what else does one do to the enemy?” 

“But surely they could’ve shown even a scrap of mercy— ” 

He appeared before her, she should be accustomed to his rictus grin (she _knew_ it was meant to unsettle) and yet it still made her words catch in her throat. He looked even more ghastly with blood smeared on his face. 

“Mercy, my sweet Master, will get you nowhere. A great leader crushes the enemy under foot, until it is destroyed or until it kisses your boot and thanks you for the privilege.”

She wanted to protest but he cut her off again. “What is the greatest enemy of all but a vampire? Do you know of all the things I’ve done, Master? What I will do if you ever let slacken your reins?”

“That’s not the point,” she replied. 

“Isn’t it?” He said, a strange patient look coming over his face. The longer she looked at him, the brighter his eyes seemed to shine. 

Quietly, he lifted a hand up, the seal painting a bloody contrast on the pale silk of his glove. “Do you know what these hands have done?” he said, again strangely patient, as if speaking to a small child. 

She did not respond, only watched the glove stain red, blood pooling in his palm as if from some unseen wound. It dribbled over, collecting at his feet. She was so transfixed by the sight, she was almost unsurprised when _shapes_ seemed to be rising up from the quickly growing pool at his feet. 

“Do you know the power I command?”

Creatures were rising up from his blood, shambling, and half formed. They gazed at her with dead eyes and gaping mouths, not entirely unlike the ghouls she so often learned about. 

_Familiars_ a distant part of her mind supplied. These were his familiars. 

She scrambled back from the quickly approaching creatures; her back hit a shelf, hard. Thankfully it was too sturdy to topple over. 

“You don’t like them? Would you prefer Baskerville to comfort you like when you were younger?” 

Another shape joined the rest, larger though. She remembered the dog he’d conjured up for her in the first few days after her father

had died. But that Baskerville had been a small, black dog. Soft, friendly, and ever so patient about letting her bury her face in his fur. 

This one she saw now was _wrong_. Matted fur, and twisted limbs that seemed to end in almost liquid masses of black shadows. The thing tilted its head at her, tongue lolling out of a massive mouth filled with rows upon rows of teeth. It looked like it was waiting for her to pet it. 

“Will you still hold him when you have nightmares?”

“Get it _away_ from me.” The dog was now nosing at her face, breath smelling of rot. Its proximity made her skin crawl but it clearly wasn’t aggressive. 

“I think he’s missed you.” 

Baskerville barked as if in response, tail wagging happily. 

“Why are you doing all this?” she bit out, still pressed up against the shelf. There was no where else to turn without walking directly into his creatures. 

Integra knew she should not be afraid— after all was it not her calling to destroy such things? Cowering in the face of _friendly_ ones was frankly pathetic. But that knowledge did nothing to slow the racing of her heart. 

“I am only illustrating a point, Master. In the future, your naïveté might cost you.”

“No. This does not change anything, this does not prove _anything_. These are magic tricks. But that” —she gestured to where the file was still sitting on the armchair—“that was horrible, and none of this nonsense has anything to do with it.” 

He was silent for a moment, perhaps choosing his words or containing his response. “You would do the same in their place.”

“No,” she replied. And despite the many uncertainties and doubts plaguing her, she’d never been more sure of something in her life.

“You’d show kindness to a monster?” He said with a sneer. “You’re a fool, little Master.” 

Baskerville had curled up at her feet. The dead eyed familiars were still gaping at her, but at least they stayed where they were. 

Integra was about to speak again, but the entire room filled with fragile artifacts was suddenly engulfed in darkness. Bright red eyes opened up around them, casting just enough light that she could see the glimmer of his teeth as he laughed again. This time it sounded more like a sob. 

Among all the bloody specters, Integra wondered if they’d destroyed a century of knowledge in the span of a single afternoon. 

“Do not forget what I am: an affront to God and humanity,” he said with bitter showmanship. “A monster, not even fit for the chains you have given me.”

“If you are such as you say,” she said quietly, a steely edge creeping into her voice. “Prove it. Right now.” She was still afraid, there was no mistaking that. But fear often made Integra angry. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

“I rescind any previous orders you may have had. Any directives to protect me. Any precautions against hurting me.” She sidestepped Baskerville, who whined in protest but thankfully made no move to follow her. The other familiars backed away. She was grateful she wouldn’t have to physically push past them at least. 

“Master—“ Alucard began, but she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. 

“Kill me now, if you want,” she said haughtily. “Free yourself.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” She was closing in on him now, and he immediately moved back as if she might burn him. 

“I understand perfectly. If you’re going to lash out at me, then you should at the very least be able to go through with it.”

He kept moving away, looking oddly panicked. “Do not put yourself at my mercy.” 

“Why not? I don’t see you doing anything to justify all your posturing earlier.” 

This time _he_ was the one backed into a wall. He snarled at her, looking like a cornered animal.

She lifted her chin, jerking down the high collar of her blouse, and bared her neck. “There are no seals, or magic that will keep you. Not a single person that even knows we’re down here. If you are the creature you claim to be, then take your freedom. Do it.”

He covered his face with his hands. _“No.”_

“Tear into my throat. Drink my blood. I couldn’t stop you.”

He sank to his knees, silent. Slowly, the darkness dissipated and the archive came back into focus. Everything was just as it was, unharmed. Even her cooled tea sitting on the stereo. 

Integra took a deep breath to steady herself. “Look at me.” 

He raised his head from his hands after a moment, but did not speak. 

“In this moment you are still free to do anything you want. It’s important to understand that _you_ are making a choice.”

“ _No_ ,” he repeated in a choked voice. “You are my Master. I would never— I couldn’t.”

It… bothered her somehow, to think that that might be the only reason he was averse to killing her. But she quickly brushed the thought aside. 

“So you won’t hurt me?” She knelt by him, and to her utter surprise he embraced her. It reminded her of the frantic way Walter had held when he first saw her after returning from South Africa. It occurred to her then that that’d likely been the last time anyone had held her. 

“Of course not.”

“I never thought you would.” 

She missed her father suddenly. She missed him increasingly less as the years went by, a fact which she could never decide whether she was proud of. It seemed very out of place to miss him in that moment though, given everything she was still processing. 

Her father who’d always been calm and stern, and had always loved her. Her father who she now realized was also responsible for all… those things. Integra didn’t know how to put it into words yet, not even in her own mind. It was awful because she’d always known. But she also simply had not understood. She still didn’t most likely. 

She bit her lip and tried not to cry into a _vampire’s_ shoulder. 

Alucard drew away to look at her, eyes the bloodiest they’d been all that day. “Now, take it back,” he said startling her. 

“What?”

“Everything you just said, take it back. Order me to protect you. Forbid me from _ever_ hurting you.”

“You just made it clear—“

“I have destroyed everything I’ve touched. I have failed my god, my people, my children, my spouses. I have only excelled at a single thing in all these years and that has been ruination. It has been killing.”

“Fine.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s make an agreement. I will not hurt you. And you will not hurt me. How do those terms sound?”

“Order it.”

“No.”

“Integra, do not put your trust in me.”

She tilted her head. “You claimed to be a monster, without any empathy or morals. What is staying your hand then? Don’t say it’s cowardice.” 

“Please, don’t.”

She had been taken aback by how shaken he seemed at this prospect, but still he’d proven _her_ point very nicely. “You did not act at all according to how you only just claimed you would. Don’t presume to know what I would do in a different situation.”

“My apologies, Master.”

“I don’t want an apology. _I’m_ sorry, I lost my temper. But I need you to understand that I am not my grandfather or my father.” She swallowed, thinking again of those very recent looking photos. 

He looked away. 

She got back to her feet awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” she said again. What else was there to say? None of this was even remotely settled, but then, how could it be? Integra could neither undo the horrors he’d faced, nor the very real failures he’d presented her with. She was sixteen. 

“It seems we’re both sorry,” he said dryly, still huddled up against the wall.

“It seems we are. Although,” she began with a slight smile in attempted reassurance. “I think we’ve spent enough time in this old place.”

He sighed. “You’re likely right.” 

“Let’s go.” She held out a hand and, tentatively, he took it.

**Author's Note:**

> Cut Snippet: 
> 
> “Don’t be afraid,” Integra said softly, harshly aware of the irony of her saying this. She was herself so young and fragile compared to him, and yet. 
> 
> “I’m not afraid,” he replied in a low voice, defensive. 
> 
> “I’m sorry for presuming.” Tentative humor laced her voice, only barely there.


End file.
